Page 2 of The Spider & the Storm

My legs felt heavy, like they were full of rocks, as I slid from my seat, reaching down to the floor to grab my backpack and slide my book back inside. I knew why we were here. I knew it had to do with the things Mom and Dad whispered about at night.

“We have to do something about him, Sue. We can’t just … let him be like this.”

“I know.”

“They’re tormenting him.”

“I know, Paul. All right? I know.”

They thought something was wrong with me; everyone did. I could tell by the way my teachers looked at me, like I was gonna break at any second. I could tell by the way the other kids in school wouldn’t look at me at all—unless they were picking on me. But I didn’t really care about what they thought as much as I cared about Mom and Dad, and I’d thought everything was fine until the principal called and their whispers began.

Now, Iknewsomething was wrong. My brain was messed up, just like the other kids in school said. I was afreak. And now, Mom had brought me to this stupid doctor to fix it.

Together, we walked across the waiting room to where that lady with the clipboard stood, Mom’s hand on my shoulder and my sneakers scuff-scuff-scuffing against the gray carpet. We tried to walk past her into the hallway, but the lady stopped us.

“The doctor would like to first speak to Charles alone, if that’s all right, Mrs. Corbin.”

Mom’s hand squeezed my shoulder, and she didn’t let go. “Alone? Why alone?”

“It’s just so we can get an accurate evaluation of the child’s condition without the possibility of—”

“Of what? What do you think my presence is going to do?” Mom’s voice sounded angrier than before. “Other than to make him feel a little more secure in an environment he’s already nervous about.”

The lady swallowed and hugged her clipboard to her chest. “If you aren’t comfortable—”

“With my son being forced to speak, alone, to a bunch of strangers? No, I’m not comfortable with that.”

The lady puckered her lips like one of my teachers always did whenever she ate one of her green apples. Then, she nodded her head only once. “Fine. Well, if you’ll just follow me …”

***

They asked me lots of questions—first that lady and then an old man who looked a lot like my grandpa, except with a mustache.

They asked lots of questions but didn’t say much back.

Things like, “What makes you feel afraid?” And, “Is it only at home, or do you also feel scared at school and other places?” And, “What do you mean when you say you getfeelings?” And, “What happens when you get thosefeelings, Charlie? Do you see people or hear voices? Or do you just …feel?”

They asked me questions like they didn’t believe me about anything, like my teachers and the other kids in school. And they asked those questions for a long time until I couldn’t sit still, and I didn’t know the right answers, and I wanted to cry. That was when Mom told them it was enough, that I’d had enough … and she was right.

I had had enough, and I wanted to go home, where my big brother, Luke, might play with me—if his dumb friend Ritchie wasn’t around.

Then, the old man said some things to Mom while I looked at my new sneakers.

“Mrs. Corbin, I would strongly urge you to consider antianxiety medication and maybe even antipsychotics if you want your son to have any chance of reaching his full potential, mentally and socially.”

“Wait a minute.” Mom held up a hand like she was telling the doctor to stop right there. “I understand the anxiety, although I’m not sure I want to immediately jump to medication before trying other coping mechanisms. But are you saying you believe thatmy sonis psychotic?”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all. But he is clearly having delusions—”

“Delusions? No offense, Doctor, but I don’t think having a bad feeling about a Category 3 hurricane makes himdelusional.”

“With all due respect, Mrs. Corbin, your son said he had a feeling that the hurricane would do something bad to your home, did he not? Which would imply that he was imagining—”

“He’s an eight-year-old boy!” Mom shouted, making me jump. She sounded even angrier now, all squealy, like the way she had that time Luke forgot to take out the garbage three days in a row. “He was terrified of what was going to happen, and his fear allowed for his imagination to go wild, and that, in turn, triggered his anxiety. Which, I’ll remind you, is why Ithoughtwe were here. Not to discuss whether or not he’spsychotic.”

I slumped deeper into my seat as I thought about the hurricane. The one that had taken our house away.

The bad feeling in my tummy had started when Dad turned on the weather channel one day in the summer when I was seven. The man on TV said we were in for a bad hurricane season, and that word—hurricane—wouldn’t stop repeating over and over and over again in my head. It made the little hairs on my arms stand up, and it made me scared. When I asked about it, Dad told me not to worry and that we would be just fine. But I didn’t believe him, not one bit, because that feeling in mytummy sort of told me not to. That feeling made me think that something really, really, really bad was going to happen.

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